• You were a bird perched in branches, singing and feasting on berries far out of reach when I caught sight. Morning was breaking under you but I refused to look away, turning my face that nose might shield instead. Lips aimed at foreign cawing from amidst heavy canopies seemed a sin; there was but one place attention could feel at home, even if the brightness must be endured. Alas, it blinded me. Ground rushed to meet knees, hands to tightly shut lids while hope of returning burned brighter than ever but once I could see again, you were gone.
    Searching only revealed that but one place felt like home, so I shut my eyes forever to find if your song could still be heard.